Boyfriend
by CatatonicVanity
Summary: "I didn't know that," Matt said casually, turning to his blonde friend. "Are you my boyfriend?" ONESHOT


A/N: Not my best work, sorry. But I was bored so I typed up this little bit and I hope you like it.

Disclaimer: I, CV, own nothing mentioned hereafter, not even the plot. MY Mail came up with the plot. So don't sue me.

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Matt was my best and only friend. I don't suppose this comes as a surprise, given how violent and untrusting I tended to be, and honestly, I sort of liked it this way. Matt was the only one who would put up with my shit and I was the only one who put up with his (and make no mistake, he's a perfect bastard at the best of times).

I think our problem was that we didn't like people. Our mutual dislike stemmed even farther from that, though, into a deep set hatred of idiocy. Not that we could help being born natural genii, but shit happens.

Now, my aversion to people led to ignorance in some areas, mostly sex, attraction and everything entailed in that. The concept was odd and naked women or men didn't really do anything for me. I knew everything about sex there was to know from a scientific standpoint, of course, but I'd never experienced it and didn't really want to.

Except for with Matt.

But you saw that coming didn't you? It seems natural, fitting, borderline cliché, really. Human contact was sort of lost on me until Matt asked to sleep next to me when we were children and he'd had a nightmare. The warmth and knowledge of someone close to me was weird, but not unpleasant, though I didn't really know why. I also didn't understand why the idea of snuggling up with anyone else seemed repulsive at best. Matt seemed to be the same way considering how fluidly and easily he ducked hugs, kisses and contact from raging fan girls who adored his fire engine hair and anti-freeze green eyes. But he didn't mind touching me, sleeping next to me, or even holding my hand like a vise in public.

This was the sort of deep inner monologue I got stuck in when I was at a club with Matt. I don't know when our little habit of clubbing started, but I liked it well enough, considering that I could drink and dance and stare at Matt in deep thought without being questioned by the inquisitive bastard.

I shook the thoughts off, stood up and downed my drink and started to the dance floor. I love to dance. I was adverse to human contact, but something about standing in a crowd dancing, surrounded by people I'll never see again is exhilarating and freeing. As I walked off, I felt Matt turn his eyes to me and knew he'd track my movements through the crowd.

He's always had my back like that. He's there to help me pull my shit together or tell me when I've fucked up and need help. I feel safer, knowing that no matter what I do, he'll be watching and ready to step in if needed.

The next half hour was a blur. I shifted along with the other dancers, feeling up and being felt up and generally forgetting that I'm an orphaned genius who leads a branch of the mafia. When I got too tired of dancing and the strobe lights were flashing even when I closed my eyes, I stumbled back to Matt, sinking down next to him and laughing. I noticed that his eyes were focused on something over my shoulder and he didn't seem too happy.

I turned to find a guy standing behind me fuming. I vaguely remembered that I'd danced with him for a while before his hands had wandered too far for my tastes and I'd twirled away. I guess he didn't like that. At this point, he was glaring at Matt and pointing at me.

"Your fucking boyfriend is a filthy whore!" he spat, obviously looking for a fight.

Now, generally, I'd have beaten his ass six feet under for daring to call me that. But I was a little entranced by the fact that he thought Matt was my boyfriend. Did we come off as a couple? Did we sit too close, or were my glances at him not as discreet as I'd hoped? Did people usually assume that we were boyfriends?

… Did Matt assume we were boyfriends?

I didn't really think so, because Matt's the kind of person to talk stuff like that through, but was it like an unspoken agreement with us or something? Did he want to be my boyfriend, or would the fact that someone thought we were repel him from me?

I had a mini panic attack in my mind, right there on the barstool while these thoughts ran rampant through my head, but I kept my eyes locked on Matt's face. His expression morphed from suspicion, to annoyance, to confusion. He cocked his head to the side the way he tends to when he's thinking or confused and made a noise in the back of his throat.

"Hn. I didn't know that," he said casually. Then he turned to me. "Are you my boyfriend?"

Maybe it was because I was slightly intoxicated. Maybe it was because it wasn't what I was expecting. Maybe it was because I was sort of giddy that he wasn't appalled at the idea of being my boyfriend. Whatever the reason, when he said that, I laughed.

I laughed like a maniac, and only laughed harder when the man standing there turned an unattractive shade of purple and fumed for a while before turning and stomping off. Matt grabbed me and hauled me out of the club and hailed a cab, lighting up while we waited. When my laughter turned to giggles, I slid closer and draped my arms over Matt's shoulders as suggestively as I could.

"Do you not want to be my boyfriend?" I purred in his ear, delighting in the shiver that seemed to roll down his spine in response. He turned his head to the side and let his lips slide over mine for a moment in a feather light touch before pulling back and smirking.

"Jesus, Mello," he sighed exasperatedly. "I thought you might never ask."


End file.
